


They Died As They Lived

by jackstanifold



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Everyone is Dead, Hurt No Comfort, I'm Sorry, Im serious dude everyone fuxking dies in this, M/M, Suicide, but like, fox don't read this it's sad, i mean if you want to do it, it's really sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29715729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackstanifold/pseuds/jackstanifold
Summary: They died as they lived. In fear, in confusion, in desperation.
Comments: 33
Kudos: 81





	They Died As They Lived

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this for creative writing class. i'm really sorry.

They died as they lived.

The Businessman, the first to go, his fists clenched in his ex husband's collar, cruel words on his tongue, alcohol in his blood. He died in a drug van, a far cry from the White House he so proudly called home. Schlatt was 23 years old, and he died surrounded by people, yet utterly alone.

The Musician was too far gone, too far beyond saving, so enraptured with his own destruction. His father pleaded with him, coaxing him down from the edge, begging him to come home, but he just smiled. Wilbur was 24 years old, and he died at his own hand.

No one was sure when exactly the Trickster died, only that he did, in the rare grace period when no one was supposed to die. He had given it all up for his beloved, and as the vines slithered over his skin, winding up his arms, he smiled, and closed his eyes. Skeppy was barely 21, and he died with his lover’s name on his lips.

The Dealer died alone, his whole body shaking. A pickaxe through the brain was enough to kill a man, apparently, and as he went, he remembered his ex husband’s death, the feeling of hands around his throat. Alex was 19 years old, and he died laughing.

The No One came and went without a hassle. He lay at the bottom of the crater, body limp, arms shattered, his final breaths coming out in shuddering wheezes. The only one to notice was the god who stood atop the bakery roof, and even he didn’t try to save him. Jack was 18 years old, and he refused to give up.

The Pawn lasted longer than he thought he would. It was hard, saying goodbye to his friend, to his brother, to his other half, but he’d given up. This was checkmate. His soulmate held his face in his hands, and begged him to say, but he just smiled, turning patiently to the crossbow aimed at his head. Tubbo was 16 years old, and he died moments before salvation.

The Warden hadn’t expected his death to be so abrupt. He stood before his old best friend, watching the way he held himself, so unlike anything he’d seen before, and he begged him to stop, to let them be, and when his friend nodded, he felt his heart soar. Sam was 21 years old, and he ripped himself to shreds, driven mad by the whispers of the monster.

The Doctor went almost immediately after. Without his beloved, his everything, he was nothing. The roses he’d bought for the other man wilted, rotted, and he sobbed, curling in on himself, begging the pain to stop. Ponk was 20 years old, and he loaded himself with drugs and laid down to rest.

The Mercenaries went out alone, together. One fell to a sword in the throat, another to a vine in the back. They died at the same time, brothers felled in every way the same and different, two heads of matted blond hair coated in blood, two pairs of pale eyes going dim. Purpled and Punz were 17 and 23, and neither even knew the other had died.

The Captain fought long, and hard, and she made a difference, but maybe that wasn’t enough. She felt her body shake as she faced down her old friends, as the warrior and child by her side drew their weapons. The Eggpire would not fall, she was told, as an arrow sprouted from her lungs. Puffy was 24, and her last thought was of her sons.

The God died that same day, rotting in a prison cell, not having eaten since the Warden had died, although he didn’t even know that had happened. For the first time in his long, long life, he didn’t know what was going on. Dream was far older than time, but he died completely alone.

The Arsonist went down with a bang, a sword in one hand, a torch in the other. He screamed as the vines came closer, winding up his legs, but it wasn’t in fear, not anymore. He destroyed, and he burned, and he screamed. Sapnap was 19 years old, and he died with rage on his lips.

The Writer died almost immediately after, but not to combat. He had fucked up, ruined time, ruined everything, and he felt himself fade as the timeline collapsed. Time travel was a tricky business, he remembered being told. Karl was 24, and he died in a confused state of black and white.

The Son hadn’t thought he’d make it this far, in all honesty. He switched sides too much, lied to too many people, he thought he’d anger someone far earlier than this. That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt to have his chest impaled by his own grandfather. Fundy was 17 and he died in the same way his father had, years before.

The Cat died alone, curled in a hole, gasping for breath. He was smart, he was, he should have realised what was going on, how he wasn’t in control anymore. The vines that sprouted from his skin trembled as he took his final breath. Ant was 23, and he died wondering if his boyfriend would be okay.

The Angel died to a cliff, and a shove, his once glorious wings too battleworn to keep him from smashing into the ground. He let out a shuddering sob, gazing at the sky, once sapphire blue eyes dimming. Phil was 46 years old, and he died with apologies to his son on his lips.

The Warrior watched his friend fall and felt his heart shatter. He had nothing else to live for, without his Icharus, so he spun, drawing his sword, and fought with no abandon, no regret. He felt a sword pierce his lungs, and he fell, but he refused to stop. Techno was 21 years old, and he would’ve kept going, if he could’ve.

The Walker wasn’t even sure when he’d died. His eyes were open, but his mind was dark, his sleepwalking leading him to nowhere. He had been asleep for days, roaming the land, and he couldn’t wake up, couldn’t remember what he was, where he was going, why he was doing this. Ranboo was 17, and he forgot how he died.

The King rotted alone, in their chambers, bedecked in gold and riches, a knife in their hand, vines in their skin. They had wanted power, wanted money, and now, as they kingdom burned around them, they wondered why they thought being a rich man would change anything. Eret was 22, and they died knowing they’d fucked up.

The Baker went out with a bang, as she’d always said she would, screaming at the child who stood before her, rage burning in her heart, grief burning in her eyes. All three of her brothers were gone, and she was alone, and she had nothing else to live for. So she pressed the button. Niki was 19 and she died with tears streaming down her face.

The Maid wasn’t supposed to die. He’d been in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and as he watched his dead best friend’s sister pull the trigger, to kill a kid, he knew he had to do something, had to step in. He had, and he died for it. H was 25 and he died because he couldn’t let a child die.

The Partner died in his dirt shack at midnight. It was nothing big, nothing grand, just like them. They’d always been just a business partner, just an ally, just a background face to fill up the quiet. They realised too late that they were sick, and the only people they’d contacted were busy, so they were alone. Connor was 23, and no one ever found their body.

The Totem was tired of watching the world burn. Everyone it loved was dead, everyone it cared for was gone. He was once a god, but now, he was just a man. He layed a flower on his mother’s grave, whispering a quiet goodbye, and he let his soul fade, drift away. Foolish was 22 and the magic that surrounded him thrummed as he released it.

The Demon hadn’t wanted this. As they finally destroyed the Egg, he realised what he’d done, who he’d hurt, and he collapsed. His beloved Trickster, the Cat he had called friend, the Warden he’d grown up with, the Arsonist he had raised as his own. He begged for release, and it was granted him. Bad was 24, and he died with blood on his hands.

The Lover hadn't awoken in days. No one noticed, oddly enough, considering how many people usually doted on him, hand and foot. All those people were dead now. All his friends, all his family. His sleeping spells used to be broken with a kiss, or a laugh, or fingers in his ribcage. George was 24 years old, and he slept through his own death.

The Comedian died in a vague confusion. He wasn’t sure what was going on, no one had told him. He had joked that he was here for a good time, not a long time, but as his lungs filled with blood, as the mobs ripped into him, he wished he had been here for a little longer. Charlie was 23 and he died loudly.

The Hero let go. He threw himself from the same cliff that had taken his father, let himself fall, let himself die. He felt a grin on his lips as he hear his friends laugh, heard the Pawn and the Walker and younger Mercenary call for him. He heard his brother’s guitar, and his father’s humming, and his nephew’s laugh. Tommy was 16 and he liked the pain that coated his body.

They’d forgotten him.

They all forgot the god who watched the land, forgot the reindeer with the wise eyes, forgot the man who knew all the secrets.

He was used to it.

He watched the life leak out of the boy, watched the last heartbeat in the world stop beating, and he sighed.

He was a good kid.

The Silent turned, walking up the hill, watching the early morning light glisten on the trees.

Callahan didn’t know how old he was, but he was alone, as he always was, in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm almost done with the next chapter of welcome to the server, and it's almost entirely fluff, so i had to do something soul rending and heart shattering.
> 
> shout out to my creative writing teacher again for saying i need to work on coherence <3


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